


Temper

by Hopie (hopiecat)



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopiecat/pseuds/Hopie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is angry at him for something, and Phoenix has an overwhelming need to be elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temper

“WRIGHT!”

 

Science dictated that a man whose voice could be heard clear across a crowded courtroom (which rivalled a sports field for noise, chaos and catchy chanting) was probably not a man that one wanted to meet at any immediate opportunity and whom should be avoided at all costs. In summary, while Miles’ Edgeworth’s voice rose above the hubbub of the courtroom evacuating for recess, Phoenix Wright took the opportunity to sneak out ensconced in a gaggle of viewers.

 

Whatever had Miles that pissed at _him_ was his cue to be across the city, as fast as the local bus could go. He ducked through the doorway and shot over to the entrance, momentarily struggling with the handle. The great thundercloud of Miles Edgeworth loomed behind him, and he was the solitary tree left in the pathway – fuck, the door wouldn’t open; he spun around and went the other way – of Miles’ thunder-bolt-throwing rage.

 

Maya came out of nowhere and clamped onto his arm. “... What did you do, Phoenix?!”

 

“M-me?!” He stopped his mad dash for the stairs in order to turn around and gape at her, because it really wasn’t fair that everyone thought _he_ was to blame for Miles yelling like someone had broken his tea set (oh God, had he broken his tea-set?) “I—I didn’t do anything! I’m innocent! I was with you the whole time, that’s my st—“

 

Maya shook her head, vising her grip around Phoenix’s forearm. Ow, and those nails of hers – filed to a point and painted Steel Samurai gray and red – pinched at his skin through his only good suit.

 

“I’m not going to be your alibi!” She hissed at him.

 

Phoenix merely gave her a look and dragged her with him down the hallway, “you are, because he’s mad at me, you go around with _me_ , ergo it’s equally likely that _you’re_ the one to blame and so he’s yelling for _me_ because of you, and don’t you think I don’t know that!”

 

Maya’s shoes going clack-clack-clack on the tiles would give them away. Glancing over his shoulder – the flash of purple-pink-whatever-colour-that-was in the crowd had a little voice in his head going ‘is your will all done up?’ and a fresh wave of nerves butterflying in his stomach – Phoenix decided that their progress could be sped up, and sped up a great deal. And he had just the idea for it.

 

He swung around and scooped Maya into his arms, knees dipping a little under her weight, and hurried down the hallway. _Okay, so she isn’t all that light, what is this, some kind of spirit medium minimum thi—_ Baffled lawyers on their way out from other parts of the building stopped and stared as he shot past them. One nudged his friend on the shoulder, pointed down the hallway where Phoenix had just turned a corner, and said, “... Did I just see a guy in a really badly coloured blue suit run down the hallway... carrying a spirit medium?”

 

“Must be Monday,” grunted his companion and made a beeline for the door.

 

Two corridors between him and Edgeworth were nowhere near sufficient – especially if this _was_ Temper Level Seven like he thought – but Maya was _not_ light and easy to carry (he had half a mind to sue the makers of every romance movie made in the twentieth century) and he had to stop and catch his breath. _Note to self: go jogging more often, it’ll make running away from certain peril via Edgeworth easier. Better yet, invest in running shoes and wear to court. Better yet—_

 

“Your face has gone blue,” said Maya, patting his face with a handkerchief, “you’re in really bad shape, Nick!”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re so damn light,” Phoenix grumbled, pinching the handkerchief from her and squeezing it between his fingers, “you don’t look it, but you certainly _feel_ like you eat four burgers a day.”

 

“It is not four!”

 

“I have the receipts, shall we go over them and see?” Phoenix threatened, folding the handkerchief and handing it back.

 

“This is no time for you to be lawyering!” Maya said, pointing down the corridor, “this is time for you to be _running_ , Phoenix. How mad do you think Mister Edgeworth is?”

 

_How mad—did you hear him yelling?! Temper level seven at least!_

“I—mad. Very mad. See—See,” Phoenix took her by the arm, hooking his into hers and all but yanking her off her feet again as he started walking towards the door to the stairwell, “Miles has temper levels, you know? There’s temper level one, where he gets really red, and temper level two, where he gets even redder and starts to babble _coherently_ , and then temper levels three to six which is basically variations on those, with a lot more flailing and a lot less coherency. And then there’s temper level seven. Temper level seven is—is—“

 

“Murder?” suggested Maya, jogging to keep up. “Suing you? Sneaking the Blue Badger into your room while you’re sleeping?”

 

“All of those,” Phoenix agreed, “and _worse_. He’ll—he’ll make me sign a contract that says I have to have dinner with the detectives. Every week. For a year. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open or he’ll sneak that damn dog of his into my office! And his dog is even scarier than Edgeworth. It’s Edgeworth without the ruffles. The ruffles make him lovable!”

 

The way Maya was nodding her head said a lot, but not as much as the look on her face. She looked like she wanted to say something – which wasn’t unusual – and also like she thought Phoenix was crazy, which might _have_ had a little truth in it because his head certainly felt like it was spinning and it was starting to hurt. Bashing the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder, he started climbing downwards, holding Maya closer to him. Maybe if Edgeworth appeared, he could push her in his direction and shave off a few minutes before the prosecuting attorney leapt on him like a dormouse on some berries.

 

Halfway down the stairwell, Maya pulled at his sleeve.

 

“What?”

 

“Is there a temper level eight?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” said Phoenix, without really thinking about it, “that’s when his ruffles all puff up and he starts to do a hunting dance. Pencils will be snapped in half without a thought towards their pencil families, and he’ll spend most of his time trying to track down the elusive Spiky-Crested Defence Attorney bird, which will be hiding in the public transport section of the city.”

 

“Oh...”

 

_Sarcasm is clearly not your strong-suit_ , he thought, letting go of Maya’s arm to try and remember where the back door of the building would lead. _Let’s see, exit here, go down the road, avoid Gumshoe, maybe call a taxi or take the bus as far as it will go_... _send another defence attorney to the case_... His brow furrowed, and he looked cautiously up the stairs, straining his ears to hear anything other than the din of footsteps on the ceiling tiles. It didn’t appear like Miles had followed him down here. Better safe than sorry, though; he’d just...hide out in the stairwell until the recess was over. That gave him twenty minutes to kill.

 

Sighing, Phoenix sat down on the stairs and rested his chin in his hands. Maya sat down next to him.

 

“He’s everywhere,” Phoenix groaned, “everywhere I look. Do you think he’s following me?—No, of course not, why would he follow me?”

 

“Maybe he likes you,” she suggested, folding her hands in her lap, “as a friend.”

 

“... Maybe.” Edgeworth had never really been Mister Brilliant at making friends. Though Phoenix doubted that he was following him _because_ he wanted to make friends; no, it probably had something to do with the trial. Or with the—actually, why would Edgeworth be mad at _him_ for the trial?

 

“Did you know Mister Edgeworth?”

 

“Once. Why?”

 

“I dunno...” She shrugged her shoulder, “... anyone you didn’t know would be that mad at you, right?”

 

_You’d be surprised_. Phoenix could still remember a security guard who’d seemed to hate him unconditionally. And there’d been a lunch lady who really, really didn’t like him. And down the road there was the owner of a coffee-shop, who also didn’t like him and called him a ‘layabout’. Unprecedented dislike followed him around like his own personal ... slug trail. Of which there was many, especially sliding all over the walls he was staring at. _Ew_.

 

“... Mister Edgeworth and I used to be friends.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What happened?”

 

_He disappeared. He wouldn’t talk to me. I’ve tried_.

 

“He... moved away. We lost touch, I guess.” _Sure, I sent him letters, but what are letters really in the great, big, wide world of contact-keeping_? And he’d never answered his letters. Or his phonecalls. And the house, when he’d gone around to try and talk to Miles, had been empty and dark and like someone hadn’t lived in it for a while.

 

“That’s sad,” Maya’s hand touched his shoulder, squeezing it – wow, she had a really strong grip for a kid! – and her thumb rubbed circles against his bones, “maybe that’s why he’s angry? He’s angry at himself for losing touch? Come on, Nick, you have to talk to him!” She jumped up, all energy and smiles, tugging at his hand.

 

“I think I’d rather jump out that window,” he said solemnly, pointing to the window opposite him, “anyway, Miles doesn’t get angry at himself, he gets... angry ... okay, he gets angry at himself, but he takes it out on everyone around him. I fall into that category.”

 

“I’ll protect you, Ni—but not right now, I have to go, bye Nick!”

 

It seemed like someone had just dropped a sheet over Maya – she vanished in a heartbeat, racing down the rest of the stairs and disappearing from sight. He stood up, leaning over the banister to see where she had gone, and then he heard _why_ she had gone.

 

“Wright!” Miles Edgeworth boomed, way too close to his ear for comfort, “Phoenix Wright!”

 

_Shit_. _Pretend you don’t speak English_. “Me no habl—Okay, whatever I did, I’m sorry for it!” _Smooth, Phoenix_.

 

Miles Edgeworth marched down the staircase. His face was the same shade as his suit, though Phoenix didn’t think that congratulating him on the precise colour-matching would help his case any, and the ruffles did look a little puffy from this angle. Not to mention the fact that Miles kept unfurling and furling his hands, like he wanted to strangle something but couldn’t figure out the best possible way to do it. All of it had Phoenix taking two steps back and nearly falling down the remaining four to the landing.

 

“Why are you here?!” Miles demanded, coming an inch away from his face.

 

Phoenix blinked, stupidly. “I’m a defence attorney, I _work_ here.” _Have you lost your damn mind_? Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure that that was _anger_ he was hearing in Miles’ voice. Maybe it was just some kind of knee-jerk reaction to defence lawyers and confusion; like switching the lights off in a room when it was empty or walking past a store-window and leaving fingerprints on it. Or yelling ‘Objection!’ during _Wheel of Fortune_. _Maybe that’s just me..._

 

“I mean why are you a defence lawyer – and bear in mind that if you say it’s because you passed your exam, I will open up a case against you for gratuitous wasting of my time,” Miles narrowed his eyes threateningly, jabbing a finger in the centre of Phoenix’s chest, “and I will win. Answer me truthfully.”

 

“... I... wanted to become a defence lawyer...?” Phoenix teetered back on the step he was on, gripping the banister tightly, “... and I did pass my exam. With a C. It’s a good mark.”

 

Miles shook his head. “You were studying to be an actor. Why did you change your mind?”

 

Phoenix stared at him. He squeaked: “... You... You were... checking up on me?”

 

There went Miles’ face again, and the corner of his mouth twitched. His hand came up, clutching at the ruffles (or at his heart through the ruffles, at this point Phoenix couldn’t tell) and he let out a slightly strangled, “n-no, I was just... making ... answer the question!”

 

This was all so _weird_. What did it matter why he was a defence lawyer now? The truth was, he was a defence lawyer. And he’d got what he’d wanted, right this moment. There didn’t need to be anything more said than that, and if he’d been a guy who actually said half of what he’d thought, he’d have said that. Some of the times he was that guy, but usually it just got him into trouble – this was one thing he didn’t want to get into trouble over.

 

What to tell Miles? The truth was sticky and just not a good idea. But lying... lying was a worse idea.

 

And Miles could tell when he lied, anyway, because _apparently_ it was something everyone could tell.

 

The temper drained out of Miles’ face. The hand at his ruffles dropped slowly. He looked older and greyer, then, and that just wasn’t _right_ , and something in his eyes had gone dull.

 

Phoenix opened his mouth, and all the excuses he’d had lined up vanished. “... You ... wouldn’t talk to me. On the phone. Or the letters. So I figured... I figured you had to face me in court. And that way, you’d _have_ to tell me what the hell is going on with you, Miles, because I sure as hell don’t know, and I don’t think you do, either.”

 

Miles opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. He looked at his watch, his face slowly pinking at the cheeks, his eyes studiously on the clock face. “We should get back,” he said instead, and retreated back up the stairs. He was gone, leaving behind the silence ringing in Phoenix’s head, and a whole damn _heap_ of feelings he really didn’t want to deal with right now that insisted on climbing down his throat and sticking pins into his heart.

 

The air roared around Phoenix’s ears. He sank down onto the step and pressed his face to his hands, just for a few seconds. Well, _that_ had gone well. Stupid to tell him the truth. He should’ve hidden it. He shouldn’t have told him anything at all – of all the times to decide to tell the truth, that had most definitely not been one of them. He could kick himself.

 

“Well,” he said, to nothing, “trial’s a’waitin’.” And he stood up, brushing off his trousers from dust and slug particles, making sure that nothing showed on the crease of his trousers, and he turned to walk up the stairs. The case. He had to think of the case. His client trusted him to find him innocent, and he’d do that, because he believed he was innocent. Because he knew it.

 

Miles Edgeworth would just have to lose.

 

_See how he likes it_ , Phoenix thought, gritting his teeth, _see how he likes to feel like a complete fool._ But his words didn’t sound angry, and he wasn’t angry. Not really. Not at all. He’d come here chasing down a fairytale, and it hadn’t worked out. No reason to get angry, but he still ground his teeth on the way to the boardroom and he didn’t look at Miles Edgeworth for the rest of the trial.


End file.
